A Hand to Hold
by Ballettmaus
Summary: As he struggles with the aftermath of Angell's death Flack is sucked into a vortex of grief; he is blind to the hurt he inflicts upon others till it's almost too late. When he opens his eyes, he finds that his misery served the purpose of something better
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: NY

Special thanks goes to Lily Moonlight who so patiently endures my little "drama moments" and so dedicatedly reads through and picks out mistakes!! And for her encouragement to post that!! Thank you!

Thanks also to cmaddict for an early read through and giving her opinion.

The story contains minimal spoilers (just reference) for 2x21, 5x24, 5x25 and 6x01, the idea, however, was born simply out of my interest for exploring emotions and reactions and Flack happened to be my "object of desire". He's shown in a different light from the show, so if you're sensitive to and/or protective of his character you might not be comfortable reading it.  
I had planned on posting it much earlier, the rough draft was finished by late October and it had been supposed to be done before episode 6x08. Obviously, that didn't work out.

Lastly, it is a oneshot plus epilogue but because of its length I broke it into three chapters.

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Stepping into the elevator, Stella glanced at her watch, content to find that she still had half an hour before she would meet Mac back at the lab, the thought bringing a smile to her lips. Years ago they had begun a tradition of spending one evening each month at a small Spanish restaurant located in a back alley and run by Spaniards. It was mostly frequented by their countrymen and to this day all of Stella's attempts to find out how Mac had come to know that place had been futile. Nevertheless she was still determined to learn how he had discovered the perfect retreat for them, its intimacy permitting them to escape life with all its cruel reality.

Because of that; their need for at least a few hours of forgetting, that routine had continued even while he had been dating Peyton but once he had come back from London it hadn't been picked up again. Neither one was able to say exactly why; they had just let it happen, allowing work and life to devour that small amount of reserved time as well.

However, when Mac had walked Stella to the door after a fabulous Christmas dinner at Sid's two nights ago, he had asked her about it, suggesting hesitantly they could pick their tradition back up again. The proposition had caught her by surprise yet she hadn't let on to it, offering a simple, warm smile in return before accepting gratefully. It was precisely what she was in need of; time away from everything, to forget what the past months had put them through especially and to have a constant again, something that felt right; that she could look forward to. She had seen in Mac's eyes that it was the knowledge of that need which had given him the courage to ask; that and the awareness of the effect the crime scene she had worked this morning had had on her despite her not giving away any details just yet.

Sooner or later, she would tell him though; would fill him in on that disturbing similarity to the scene of Angell's death, about that brunette victim roughly the same age as her late friend and all those emotions which had overwhelmed her. But she needed to deal with it herself first, like she had needed to earlier upon entering the scene, just standing and staring for a long moment, unable to do anything against the tears which had welled up inside of her. Yet she had managed to push all those feelings aside on time, recomposing herself and looking for the detective in charge.

After the crime scene itself, that, however, had been the second shock of the day and was exactly the reason why she now stepped out of the elevator into the hallway leading to Flack's apartment.

She had found him talking to a witness, appearing calm and professional but his devastated eyes had been the perfect window to the agony that had raged inside of him; to the desolation he struggled with and lost. It was that one look which had been enough to confirm that the wound which had finally begun to heal had been torn violently open again; that it had ripped almost wider than before. The pain, his pain, had broken her heart and she had been overcome by the desire to strangle the officer who had been so inconsiderate as to not specifically request anyone but Flack.

The irritation had flared up again later that evening once Flack, despite all her efforts to convince him, hadn't shown up at Sid's, her calls having remained unanswered. But the more the evening had advanced, the more the nice atmosphere and especially Mac's presence had gotten her mind away from her mourning friend, from the case, her concerns, and it hadn't been until the following day that she had been reminded about the harsh reality. Flack had reported in sick, her calls again not being answered and when she had told Mac over a coffee after their shift, she had been genuinely worried.

Since their friend had continued to be a no-show today, she had, after having used her afternoon off to run some errands, informed Mac that she would stop by Flack's before meeting him back at the lab for their planned dinner. He had agreed quickly, sounding relieved that someone would check on the distraught detective but prior to hanging up had reminded her that he had promised her he would not be putting in any overtime tonight and that he was planning on keeping that promise.

It was that comment that was responsible for the faint smile which held her lips captive as she knocked on Flack's door, waiting for the answer that didn't come and she tried again, a little louder, nothing but more silence meeting her.

"Flack?" she followed her third knock. "Come on, Flack, I just want to know how you are."

As her voice subdued, the hallway fell quiet, moments passing until she finally heard some shuffling inside. The unmistakable sound of the lock of the door being turned touched her ear and seconds later the door itself was swung open.

"I'm fine," Flack stated, his outward appearance proof enough that he wasn't. His hair was ruffled and he hadn't shaved in what Stella was sure were two days.

"Obviously," she mumbled, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "Would you mind if I come in for a minute?"

Her question was answered with a shrug and letting go of the door, Flack turned around to walk back into the apartment, Stella following him after another instant of hesitation. She quietly shut the door then hurried down the short hallway to the living room, a shocking yet expected sight greeting her.

Half emptied containers of Chinese take-out were sitting on the table next to a line-up of beer bottles and she assumed that both were leftovers from the two previous nights. A pile of fabric that looked like a blanket and cushions suggested he had spent those nights on the couch, his disheveled clothing only supporting that theory. In fact, she was almost sure that he was still wearing the same outfit he had when she had last seen him, that a thought she didn't necessarily want to pursue any further.

"Want one?" Flack's voice captured her attention.

She turned her head to find him having extended his arm towards her, offering her a glass filled with a liquid she suspected to be whiskey. For a second she kept staring at that then her eyes moved to his, finding them to be blood shot and glassy, a sure sign that this was not his first drink of the day.

Remembering that he had asked her a question, she shook her head in response to which he simply shrugged before drowning the contents of the jar himself.

"How many of those have you had?" Stella inquired as she took off her coat. She didn't plan on staying long but the cold temperatures outside made it almost insufferable to keep a jacket on for more than a minute on the inside.

He lowered the empty glass yet held on to it, giving the impression that he needed it to steady himself, studying her, another shrug following.

"My first," he replied, turning to reach for the bottle.

She raised her brows, considering to express her doubts verbally, however, she figured that it would do no good and for all she knew it could indeed be his first of that kind. Therefore she silently placed her coat on the sideboard next to her, watching him stride over to the sofa and drop into the same spot he seemed to have previously occupied, observing his swirling of the liquid before taking a sip.

"So," he said, his gaze wandering over her once more, "anything else I can do for you?"

She was sure that it had been meant to sound as unwelcoming as it had but she chose to ignore that.

"I'm worried about you, Flack," she explained softly, ignoring the snort that rang through the room in response.

"You sure?" he asked, merely glancing at her since he had already lifted his glass back to his mouth, emptying it with one long sip.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she questioned, puzzlement audible in her words.

For the third time he opted to reply with a shrug, staring into his empty glass that he ever so slightly twisted in his hand, the soft clinking of the melting ice cubes the only sound filling the room.

"Flack?" Stella's voice was calm but his neglect had started to bother her and she sighed inwardly. "Don," she tried again, once more getting no reply.

"Can you hand me the bottle?" he then asked.

She glared at him, moments of silence passing until she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"No," she decided, unwilling to contribute to his unreasonable consumption.

Meeting her eyes, he stared at her, a strange discomfort rushing through her but it was gone as quickly as it had come and she watched him push himself off the sofa, returning to the cabinet where he kept the liquor. Throwing her a look, he provokingly reached for the bottle and turning his back towards her, he poured himself another drink that he tipped back with one shot before setting the glass down. His fingers, however, didn't leave it, quite the contrary, they tightened around it nevertheless he didn't move and as he stared out of the window, she regarded him in consideration.

"If you don't want to talk to me…" she began slowly, his abrupt spinning around stopping her though.

"You suddenly care about what I want?" he snapped, causing her forehead to be pulled into a confused frown. "Got a bad conscience or something?" he asked, his words not making a lot of sense to her since she had offered help before.

They all had but he had decided to keep to himself, retreating to somewhere where he couldn't be reached by anyone.

"Any reason why I should?" she inquired, refraining from speaking her thoughts out loud.

"Oh, I don't know," he barked, turning around and reaching for the bottle, his hand clasping but not lifting it.

Raising her brows, Stella once more found herself with only his back to look at, a tension filled silence settling between them as she anticipated his next move, contemplating whether or not to comment. She took a hesitant step towards him, her gaze leaving his body yet it didn't go back to him like she had planned, instead everything inside of her appeared to momentarily freeze over.

"What's with the gun?" she demanded, her eyes focusing on the black object which had been previously hidden from her view by the mess on the table.

He didn't reply, his lack of reaction causing her to shift her attention back to him, concern and confusion racing through her mind, building up to an unwanted anxiety. She would never have considered that there was anything which could corner him; could push him so there seemed to be only one option left to get away from the pain unbearable pain. But grief was one of if not the most powerful emotion and the hurt and devastation it caused had broken a lot of others before him, that consideration, however, simply deepened her worries.

"Don," she said quietly, lifting her arm, her fingertips grazing his wrist.

"It's just there, okay?" he barked that same moment, spinning around.

Stunned she took a step backwards, his eyes glaring at her before he whirled back around, refilling his glass and taking a mouthful of the liquid.

"It shouldn't be," Stella stated, having overcome her surprise.

"Seems fine with me," Flack retorted, bringing his body to face hers in a swift motion, his eyes piercing into hers but she didn't flinch, silently withstanding his stare.

"I'm sure it does," she replied sarcastically. "Perfectly."

"I didn't ask you for your opinion," he hissed, leaning close, the smell of alcohol that came from his breath causing her stomach to churn.

"No," she agreed, not sure where she was going with that. "No, you didn't."

It was all that she said, uncertainty filling the eyes which held on to his until he broke the contact, emptying his glass before he made another 180 degree turn. He set the glass down and she waited for him to reach for the bottle yet he didn't, he simply went back to staring out of the window.

"Flack," she almost whispered, no reaction coming from him. "This is not the answer," she pointed out a little louder, still speaking softly though.

His muscles tensed, otherwise, however, he again didn't move and she studied him thoughtfully.

"You cannot go on like this," she went on caringly. "No one expects you to get through this yourself and you don't have to – you know that." She paused, once more receiving no response, therefore deciding to continue. "No one will blame you if you don't feel comfortable talking to any of us," she assured him. "All you have to do is talk to someone."

Her voice pleaded with him and this time her words were met with the turn of his head, his eyes briefly making contact with her before he drew his gaze away. He spent another moment staring out of the window, then left the cabinet, walking over to the sofa and dropping into the same spot from earlier.

"It'll help you move on," she added, feeling like she had to say something, at the same time wondering if he was even listening.

His eyes flashed up for merely an instant, his gaze dropping again, surveying the mess in front of him, halting once they came to the black object. He let his look linger, seconds ticking by that were filled with nothing but anxiety, Stella's heartbeat quickening, her hands clasping into nervous fists. She wasn't sure if she should say something, what to say exactly if she opted to do so, the hammering inside her chest increasing further when Flack moved, reaching for the gun. Holding it, he just stared almost mesmerized, very obviously feeling its weight, his eyes finally being lifted to meet hers.

"Did you ever think about how little it takes?" his voice rang through the room as if none of her previous words had been spoken and he lowered his gaze back to the weapon. "Such a small piece of metal, Stella," he went on quietly. "That's all it takes to alter life forever."

She didn't know what to reply and an uncommon sensation of feeling lost arising inside of her, she took a step towards him.

"So small…" he mumbled, his tone heavy, "so much power…"

For a second she expected him to burst into tears yet instead he stood, the sudden change of pace startling her and instinctively backing off, she watched him walk over to the kitchen. With the weapon remaining in his hand, he opened the refrigerator door, pulling out a bottle of beer that he skillfully uncapped with the gun prior to placing it on the counter before he sank against the wall.

"Flack, I," she began tentatively, unsure of what to make of his actions. "I know it's painful…"

"You know a damn, Stella!" he snapped, his eyes full of a furious spark.

"I know that you've had way too much to drink," she countered, the words out of her mouth without her being fully aware of them.

"I don't need a babysitter," he snorted, taking a long, goading sip from his beer.

"I can see that," she retorted mockingly.

Irony was something she wouldn't normally use in a conversation with someone filled up with as much liquor as he apparently was, yet it was Flack and no matter how drunk, no matter how close he was to a gun, she would always give him the benefit of the doubt.

"You got a problem?" he barked, throwing her a challenging glare.

"_I_ don't," she snapped, her eyes locking with his.

"Fine," he stated, "I don't either."

"Your alcohol consumption is proof of the contrary," she shot back.

"I'm not one of your damn cases, Stella!" he spat, his eyes narrowing almost menacingly. "And neither am I a suspect, so, I don't need to give you any proof at all!"

"You know what," she hissed, her temper taking over, "you're right! I'll just wait until you're one of my cases, that'll make talking a lot easier for us!"

Arguing with him had certainly not been her intention when she had come; however, he wasn't exactly making it easy and her patience was beginning to strain.

"If you change your mind before that, you know where and how to find me," she added in as level a voice as she could muster, spinning around and swiping her coat off the sideboard.

"Unless you're somewhere screwing people." His voice bolted through her ears like a bullet and she stopped dead, closing her eyes for a second before turning back to face him.

"Excuse me?" she asked as composed as possible.

"That's the term, I would use," Flack nodded, taking a mouthful from his beer, his gaze fixed on her. "You know, this is so pathetic – you and Adam."

Struggling to keep her control, a million questions started to rush through her head and she was tempted to ask how he had found out. Moreover did she want to know who else had knowledge of it, more specifically if Mac had since she hadn't told him so far and still hadn't made up her mind if she would. However, she certainly didn't want him to learn about it from anyone but her which was part of why she hadn't spoken to anyone about it and she had thought that Adam hadn't either.

Apparently though, she had been wrong and thinking about it now, it was no surprise to her that he had let it slip, surely while being in a state similar to the one Flack was in right now. They had held enough sports nights for that to have happened and she could only hope that it had been one during which Mac had been on duty.

Yet as much as she liked to ask about it, it was something she had to worry about later, knowing that she couldn't afford to let down that shield of composure at the moment.

"I don't see how this is any of your business," she replied coldly, regret crossing her mind for the millionth time.

It was unlike her to look back, she was of the opinion that there was no point in dwelling on things which had happened in the past and she was a strong believer in facing the future, bright and positive. The situation with Adam was no different and it wasn't exactly the act itself which bothered her. What did was that she hadn't been the tiniest bit more mature – but even if she couldn't have been that, she would have loved to at least understand her ulterior motive; the one which had led to said immaturity.

It wasn't that it was a total mystery to her; what she didn't comprehend was why Mac's withdrawal, his obsession with finding who was responsible, had caused her to react the way she had. Of course, his neglect to include her in his thoughts and theories, his life, had left her with a longing yet Adam hadn't been able to provide her with anything other than one of the most unimportant factors of what she was lacking and certainly not with the care she had been yearning for.

"I never asked for you to snoop around in my life either," Flack threw at her and she was about to shoot a proper reply at him but bit it back at the last moment. "I bet you just wanted to find out if I really was sick anyway," he added scornfully.

"Believe me, I wasn't dumb enough to believe that you were physically sick for one second," she snapped, the control she had managed to maintain vanishing.

"Aren't you smart," he grunted, irony dripping from his words.

"Because it takes a real genius to have figured that out," she replied, very well aware that it was not the wisest choice of response but she was fed up with his attitude.

His eyes bore into hers and she suddenly found herself wishing that he would have chosen to drown himself in work like Mac had years ago. He hadn't been any easier to deal with, probably the contrary, yet his mind had not been clouded by an excessive amount of alcohol, therefore had been functioning as rationally as could have been expected.

Drawing his gaze away from hers with a snort, Flack took another long sip from his beer and she watched him for a moment then took a step forward, ready to make her exit.

"Where're you going?" Flack asked before she had a chance to say something herself.

"I'm leaving," she stated the obvious, finding his eyes again. "You're welcome to give me a call when you feel like talking."

"Yeah…" he simply said, the word stretched, an odd sensation creeping up inside of her again. His alcohol overshadowed look brought back the discomfort she had felt earlier and a little hesitant, she began to toy with the coat in her hands.

"And then you'll show up again when I don't, pretending to be worried," he sneered, finishing his beer with one last gulp. "But for now you got somewhere better to be."

"Can you blame me?" she inquired briskly, wondering why she allowed herself to be drawn into another of those pointless discussions and not wanting an answer in the first place.

"Look, my offer stands," she told him firmly, "call me or don't, I don't care…"

"I know that you don't," he cut in. "But you're not leaving this time."

"This time?" she repeated, genuinely confused.

"This time!" he confirmed, obviously not bothering to give any further explanations.

"What are you talking about?" she asked impatiently.

"What am I talking about?" he mocked, letting out a hollow laugh. "I'm talking about the last time you just left me," he erupted, slamming his fist onto the counter, making her jerk. "The last time I needed you and all you did was go and have fun and forget about me! About her! About everything! – But not this time, Stella! This time you'll stay with me and you'll pay me the attention I want!"

Stunned, she stared at him, unable to find words to respond, the back of her mind slowly beginning to comprehend that "the last time" was apparently referring to the Christmas dinner two nights ago. The one, she had tried to convince him to go to and that she not only had wanted but had needed to attend; had needed to have the distraction of, needed to have the friends; Mac, the comfort of his presence and touch.

"I told you to give me a call when you felt like talking to someone," she reminded him. "And I tried to call you – you were the one not answering."

"Why should I have?" he snapped. "You went; you left me. Left me after – after that! You didn't care Stella!"

"I did care," she hissed. "But what difference would it have made to stay and drown myself in misery?"

"I wouldn't have been alone!" he barked, taking a step towards her.

"You chose to be alone," she pointed out annoyed.  
"You chose to leave me alone," he countered, sounding like a spoiled brat and she glared at him, aware that it was no use to pursue that any further.

"You're drunk, Flack," she only stated. "Sleep it off. Mac and I'll have you covered with your CO."

"Oh, yeah, you're running off again," his sarcastic voice sounded through the room the moment she turned. She ignored it and was ready to leave when a hand clasped around her arm, spinning her around with such a surprising force that she had to reach for the sideboard to steady herself.

"I told you, you're not going anywhere!" he growled as she yanked her arm out of his grasp but he was quick to grab it again. "Not until you've made up for it!"

"Made up for what?" she questioned, pulling her arm back out of his hand, her glare daring him to reach for her again which he didn't.

"Everything," he yelled, the blue of his eyes clouding with the grey of a raging storm and for the second time her stomach flipped at the sickening smell of alcohol. "That you let her down! That you let me down! That you of all people…"

"Cut it, Flack," Stella interrupted, wanting to push past him, yet he stepped in front of her, blocking her path and for an instant all she could do was look at him in alarm.

"I asked you to stay," he hissed.

"You didn't ask," she countered. "Now let me go!" she demanded, nevertheless Flack didn't move, suddenly seeming so much taller, his pathetic outward appearance even worse; his clothes appearing more ragged, his breath reeking stronger, his face less shaved, the signs of grief all the more visible.

It was a sight that was frightening; until now she had never realized how menacingly his height and built could actually be, a seizure of panic taking a hold of her as memories she preferred to keep buried in the depth of her mind rushed to the surface.

"Come on, Flack, this isn't funny," she tried to reason as controlled as possible, cursing the trace of distress that was nonetheless audible in her words.

"No," he agreed, raising his voice. "No, it's not!" he yelled, diminishing the distance between them even further, his eyes filled with a fury that she had never seen with him before.

Continuing to struggle with the remembrance of events that she didn't want to think about in connection with one of her closest friends another flash of fear shot through her but she forced herself to ignore it, keeping what she hoped was a determined gaze fixed on his.

"Nothing's funny about it!" While the statement was firm, he seemed to have calmed again, she, however, remained silent.

His outburst had rattled her too much and rendered her unsure of whether it was safe to say something or not, let alone move, yet she refused to show signs of intimidation, withstanding his scrutinizing, almost thoughtful, look.

"Sit down," he concluded, making only so much room that she could have squeezed past him in the direction of the couch.

"What for?" The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to think about them and she suffered the consequences immediately.

"Because I said so!" he roared, closing in on her again and she intuitively wanted to take a step backwards, the wall and sideboard though preventing her from doing so.

"Flack. Don – please," she attempted once more to reason with him.

Her inner fears were quick to take advantage of the weakened state the situation had put her in, nevertheless she battled with her instincts, rejecting to see the need to fight him. It was after all Don Flack and while Frankie had been her boyfriend, she hadn't known him for years. She hadn't worked with him in a job that demanded indisputable trust and hadn't had the certainty that he'd "have her back" on countless occasions. He simply hadn't been one of the two persons she trusted with her life; those honors were reserved for Mac and Flack and she just couldn't allow the threat to be real. That would shatter so much more of what had already been shattered due to the events of the past months nonetheless she found herself wondering if she stood a chance anyway. While he might have been intoxicated, he remained a trained police officer, taller and a lot heavier than her.

"This is getting nowhere." She had regained enough of her control to state it resolutely.

"That's because you're not sitting down!" he snapped, coming even closer, their bodies now touching and she had to suppress the sickening feeling his breath caused.

"I don't want to sit down!" she yelled back, gathering the strength she needed to push away from him.

"But _I_ want you to!" he argued, clutching her arm with an almost painful force. "And you owe me that!"

He shoved her into the general direction of the sofa and she stumbled forward, dropping her coat as she struggled to regain her balance. Only barely was she able to steady herself before hitting the coffee table in front of her, emotions surging through her body that she was unwilling to give in to. She still clung to the hope that Flack would come to his senses and not put her through that sort of a nightmare again and so reclaiming control, she slowly turned around.

He hadn't moved, his eyes piercing into her body yet she fought the menace that glare was supposed to portray, the distance between them allowing her to succeed.

"What now?" she asked, staying put next to the table and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You tell me, smart girl," he spat, obviously content with his half-victory.

She didn't reply but simply glared at him, his eyes returning her icy stare, moments passing until he left his spot, striding back to the kitchen.

"This is ridiculous," she mumbled, drawing her gaze away from him.

"Is it?"

Surprised that he had heard her, her head shot back up, discovering that he had turned to take a step towards her and she studied him wordlessly. While the hardness and hostility of his gaze still caused a discomfort inside of her she was tempted to make another attempt at leaving, her chances of actually doing so rather slim though. His temper was more than likely to flare up again and it remained more than easy for him to block her path, the gun now within a menacing reach. She didn't think he would essentially use it, however, he was merely able to keep his balance on that thin line between right and wrong that he was on; a line that it took so little to fall off into the wrong direction and she didn't want to provoke any action that would prompt that.

"Fine," she decided, not bothering to hide any of the annoyance from her voice, "it's not. – Then talk, or tell me whatever else I'm here for."

"You in a hurry or something?" he inquired and for an instant she felt like letting out an exaggerated groan.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she simply stated though, her eyes moving to the clock behind him. There were two minutes left until she was scheduled to meet Mac and the irony that her delay gave him a valid excuse to actually put in some overtime, grinned into her face.  
"Got a date?" Flack continued to question, her eyes wandering back to him. "Yeah," he answered himself before she had even a chance to object, his gaze skimming over her. "Pretty," he concluded, the skirt and matching top that she had chosen to wear casual but slightly fancier than anything she'd dress in for work. "Too bad you can't make it," he finished, their eyes locking.

"You seem devastated about that," she remarked.

His gaze hardened yet the expected outburst didn't follow, instead he walked over to the refrigerator, retrieving another beer that he once again popped open with the handle of his gun. Just like earlier his eyes drifted over it in inspection and she watched in silence, searching for something she could say that would not send him over the edge. His incalculability made it impossible though and she opted to keep quiet, her anxiety returning a moment later since the gun continued to be his point of focus, his thumb moving over the black metal. The urge to plead with him to just let go of it arose inside of her and while she still held on to the belief that he would not use the gun on her, the obvious disturbed state of mind he was in sufficed to feed those restless doubts in the far back of her mind.

There was so much damage he could do, he himself had pointed out the power of one bullet not too long ago and even if it wasn't her he would aim it at, one other option remained that she wanted just as little to happen.

"Didn't I tell you to sit down?" his voice echoed through the room.

Her gaze snapped up, finding him to stand sideways, one hand around the bottle, the other covering the gun that he had put back on the counter as if to steady him.

"I can just as well endure your ramblings while standing," she retorted, to her relief only getting an indifferent shrug in response.

"Fine," he said, finally letting go of the weapon and lifting the bottle towards his mouth. "But you're not leaving."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

Thank you for all the reviews and alerts!!

* * *

"How could I resist such an appealing invitation?" she muttered, shifting her weight to the other foot, wishing she had at least a wall to lean on.

"You trying to be smart again?" he snapped, making her jump again and she was about to defend herself when he went on.

"Go ahead," he snarled, opening his arm in an encouraging gesture before slamming the bottle back onto the counter the next instant. Beer splashed out of it and for the third time she jumped, her arms dropping to her sides.

"Because I don't care! I don't care because you're not the only one, you're just like everyone else, just like life." He made a pause yet even if she had been able to think of something, she was too stunned to respond.

"That smartass that has been laughing into my face, Stel, hysterically, like I've been made the joke of the century. – The joke that it's responsible for, at my expense! At her expense! Just for life to have some fun, it pushed her into my face; here Flack, there, take her, she's cute, she's pretty, charming and the best part of it, she likes you, too, so you get to screw her, yeah, Flack, that's great, isn't it? Awesome, right? But hey, we forgot to tell you – we're going to take her. That's right, sorry about that buddy, it's just the way it is."

Not sure how to react, Stella looked at him, her eyes and mind begging him not to take the bottle of beer he was reaching for and soon after sipping from. It seemed like an eternity until he lowered it again, fixating the bottle for some more endless moments in obvious contemplation before throwing it against the wall in one furious motion.

"I don't even know why, Stella!" he raged on, ignoring the shattering of the glass.

Her eyes wide in shock, she stared at him, wishing that with the fury inside of him he would not ask her directly and expect an answer.

"I don't! Why has life been doing that, why Stella? What did I do to piss it off?"

There was another pause, his intense gaze making her wonder if he truly expected an answer, however, a second later he shifted, returning to the refrigerator. He grabbed the handle, pulling the door a crack open then flung it shut, his fist following against the refrigerator's exterior.

"I'm a cop, Stel, a damn cop!" he yelled, his grip on the handle tightening. "I'm one of the good guys, I arrest the bad ones, I do good things; good things! But life – life has just been playing me. Completely turned its back on me. Screwed me..."

"You're not the only one to ever lose someone you loved!" Stella interrupted, irritated by his seemingly endless ramble of self-pity.

"I didn't ask you!" he shot back, spinning around, his eyes flickering dangerously, "you're here to listen – now go sit down and do that!"

The rage in his voice was of a power she hadn't known him to be capable of having, yet he was not the first to being overpowered by the lethal combination of alcohol and emotion. Nonetheless she still didn't move, refusing to give him that sort of authority over her, simply crossing her arms back in front of her chest.

"You deaf?" he barked, leaving the kitchen area and approaching her with a quickness that stood in no relation to the amount of liquor he had consumed.

"No," she replied, unaware of why she bothered.

"Then go the hell and sit down," he hissed, leaning menacingly close.

A slight fear once again crawled over her skin, leaving her with the urge to evade but she was unwilling to show him even the smallest trace of the effect he had on her, therefore only glared at him. However, an instant later she did move, barely perceptibly, a tiny voice reminding her that as long as he didn't physically harm her, there was a chance to end things without any consequences. She took a hesitant step backwards and with her arms still in front of her chest, she reluctantly crossed over to the couch, dropping into the same spot Flack had been sitting in earlier.

"What's the difference now?" she wanted to know aggravated.

"The difference?" his temper flared up again. "The difference? That's what you care about? The difference?"

She fought the temptation to point out that that was what she had asked about, all too aware that it would make matters only worse.

"You want to know the difference? I'll tell you the difference! The difference is that it's you! You Stella! You and not her! That's the freaking difference."

His words didn't make much sense but then so hadn't some of the other things he had said and she stared at him with the same stern expression on her face.

"But that's, of course, the difference that no one notices," he continued his angry monologue. "No, all they notice is themselves, their differences, that's why they offer support because they realize something is different in their world, their image which suddenly becomes different and naturally we can't have that, can we?"

Wondering if he even knew what exactly he was talking about, Stella studied him, his eyes briefly connecting with hers before he drew away, walking back over to the kitchen area.

"But no one's ever considered the difference it makes to Jess! No one!" He had stopped at the counter and turned, the statement confusing Stella even further yet she just watched him prop his elbows onto the hard surface, his head falling into his hands which he ran through his unkempt hair.

"I mean," he went on, shifting his eyes to her, "how must she feel, right? She's dead, Stella, dead! – Bang, and that was it. Just because some – lunatic… That's a pretty big difference right? One second you're alive, next thing you know… And no one's ever – and I mean ever – considered that. No one ever asked me if she had said anything, no one ever wondered if she knew, if she was aware… conscious… what she might have been thinking."

Pausing, his hands wandered over his face and through his hair a second time, his gaze then skimming the counter before he pushed himself away from it. A moment later he had gotten another bottle of beer from the refrigerator, setting it next to the gun but to her pleasant surprise he didn't open it, quietly staring at the two so very unequal yet potentially fatal objects.

"She must have thought something, right?" he kept going, Stella's anger starting to subside, sympathy growing in its place. "She was, after all, dying; it was her life which was ending. Hers! Can you imagine how she felt when she realized that? When she realized that she would never be able to fulfill any of her plans? That it was all coming to an end and there was nothing – absolutely nothing – she could do about it?"

They were thoughts Stella had indeed had, inadvertently but they had come to her a couple of days after it had happened, when she had sat on her couch, exhausted, alone and everything had all of a sudden started to sink in. With the person she had longed to talk to busy plotting revenge, she had pushed those as well as all of the other feelings aside, unwilling to deal with them without the comfort she needed. Yet they had sneaked back just as often, keeping her awake at night and while they finally had subdued – for the most part at least – difficult and tiring cases still brought them back.

"I've tried," Flack cut through the momentary stillness. "I've tried and each time that thought just makes me… suffocate. Because she was all alone, no one holding her hand… no one who assured her that it would be alright, just doctors, sterility… And nobody cares! Nobody asked even once if I was with her, if I could tell her that I love her, if she had been able to tell me, if I knew… No, all they ask about is me, how I feel; how I am." There was a pause but too brief for any response. "– How should I be?" his voice rose again anger once more shining through. "I lost my girlfriend! The woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with! The woman who meant everything to me. Every-thing!"

He glared at her accusatorily as if that was her fault; as if she was responsible for both, that he had fallen in love with her and that she was gone and Stella was tempted to point out that that wasn't the case. Reason, however, had her not do and for a moment all they did was stare at each other until he tore his gaze away, reaching for the bottle, swiping it, together with the gun Stella wished he would just leave alone, off the counter.

"They're already starting to forget her, Stella," he stated, more to himself than her, sinking back against the wall. "They're forgetting," he mumbled, gazing at some undistinguished point in front of him, ready to uncap the bottle but not doing so. Instead his arms slumped to his sides and he shook his head, his features that of a crushed and broken man. "They just move on; keep going as if – as if nothing happened," he stated almost incredulous. "As if she didn't exist."

"Oh come on, Flack," Stella was unable to remain quiet any longer, her eyes searching his face. "You know that's not true."

Changing his point of focus, his gaze met hers and she feared that he would launch into another feisty rant yet to her relief he didn't but simply moved his eyes away from hers again.

"No one's forgetting her," she continued tentatively, watching him closely. "We just can't mourn her forever. – Life is going on – and as hard as it is, we have to as well. … And so do you." Her last words were spoken with care and she almost held her breath as she waited for a reaction that didn't come.

All he did was keep staring in front of him, the gun as well as the bottle still in his hands and minutes of silence passed before he finally shifted, his eyes finding hers once more. He held on to them, seeming to search for an answer; for guidance and again it felt like endless moments until he drew away. In a swift motion he opened the bottle, the cap cluttering to the floor as the hope Stella had started to build up crumbled.

"No one says I have to," he remarked, studying the gun and she observed him with an alert gaze, her body tensing.

"Jess would want you to," Stella pointed out cautiously, aware that it was a pretty standard comment yet it was what had first come to her mind.

"Leave her out of it," Flack hissed, his gaze darting at her, the gun being slammed onto the counter.

Finding herself sending a fervent prayer that the gun was secured, she closed her eyes for a second, forcing herself to relax before opening them again. He had let go of the weapon and leaned back at the wall, the sight causing a quiet sigh of relief to escape her lips. She spent another moment looking at him yet he had chosen to ignore her for the time being and she tore her gaze away, letting it wander through the apartment. The state it was in was terrifying, a lot worse than it had been at first glance and she wondered when he had last taken care of anything but quickly concluded that she had been shocked enough for one evening.

Stopping her visual exploration she discovered her coat that was still lying on the floor and she stared at it, contemplating whether or not picking it up was an option. She figured that it wasn't nevertheless she glanced at Flack who, to her surprise, had been watching, his gaze too, going to the coat then back to her. As his eyes met hers, he lifted his arm, taking a sip from his beer and with her features hardening in displeasure over his indifference she shifted, turning her head towards the window to her side. An instant later, however, a rustling caught her attention and she discovered that Flack had left the wall and was now strolling over to pick up the coat that he then draped over the sideboard it had previously lain on.

Surprised, she ran her eyes over him yet he seemed oblivious to it, wordlessly returning to the spot he so vigorously occupied.

"Thanks," Stella offered and he interrupted the lifting of his arm to make their eyes connected but the look didn't last as he drew it away again to take another mouthful of beer.

Suppressing a heavy sigh that had built up inside of her, she began to let her gaze roam through the room once more, inspecting the counter. It wasn't as much of a mess as the table in front of her was as he seemed to have primary used it to stack the mail, so there were only a few empty glasses and cans scattered around. A photo of him and Angell was placed at one end, standing out in the neat way it was arranged and she studied it. It was a simple snapshot yet the happiness the two had shared in the little time they had had was so unmistakably and painstakingly obvious.

"Where's the photo from?" Stella asked, her voice calm. She hoped that some casual conversation, some remembering, would help him realize what exactly he was doing here; that he should not be doing it in the first place and that all it was leading to was self-destruction.

"Long Island," he replied, his own eyes shifting on to it as Stella nodded acknowledging.

He didn't offer anything else, silence falling back between them as a result, his shuffling interrupting it a moment later.

"We went there last spring," he added, placing the bottle of beer on the counter and reaching for the photo. "The few warm days we had in March…"

She remembered those clearly, the mild temperatures, the lunch breaks she had been able to convince Mac to spend with her on a bench enjoying the sun, the one dinner they had shared; the memories making the same longing with which Flack regarded the photo spread through her.

"You're not alone, Don," she assured him and she was suddenly overcome by the impression of having travelled back in time to those endless hours of offering comfort and company.

She had cursed Mac for his obsession to work day and night, the lack of sleep affecting her a lot more than him, now, however, she found herself once more thanking her stars that he had chosen that instead of anything else. Surely, back then something like the current situation wouldn't have had the same effect it would have these days, their friendship having been led down the path it had taken because of those moments; those times together in never-ending care. But a deep base of trust had already been established and she didn't want to consider any of the consequences that anything remotely close to this could have had.

"And no one is expecting for anything to happen from one day to the other," she added words which were still all too familiar. "No one thinks that you'll be fine by tomorrow. It takes time and we all know that – but this doesn't work."

"Works for me," Flack shrugged, putting the photo down and reaching for the beer to drown another swig of the bitter liquid.

"No it doesn't," Stella blurted out before she had a chance to think about it.

"That's right," Flack barked and for an instant she was afraid another bottle would be sent flying through the kitchen. "You're a psychiatrist now."

The derision laying in his voice was impossible to ignore yet Stella bit back the comment she would have loved to throw at him in return.

"I wish I needed to be one to figure that out," she then stated, her words met with a snort. "But you're making it plain obvious."

"Or maybe you're just not as smart as you think, smart girl," he sneered.

"Maybe you're the one who's taking a way too easy path out," she countered. "Sure it's painful and sure that," she gestured to the beer, "is helping you forget but…"

"Stop lecturing me," he cut in, launching forward and she briefly allowed her eyes to close.  
"You're the one who wants me here," she reminded him sharply.

"But not to tell me what to feel or think or do!" he growled.

"Then what for?" Stella demanded. "To watch you get drunk?"

She was aware of the risk that comment bore nonetheless she hadn't been able to resist the temptation and with her heart starting to beat faster she watched his grip on the bottle tightening. Moments filled with an anxious tension passed and afraid he would break the bottle, she opened her mouth, ready to say something when that bottle, too, was finally smacked onto the counter.

"You're here to listen," he yelled, redirecting his sharp gaze at her. "Understood? To listen to me and no one else!"

This time she was able to refrain from asking who else she would listen to and tearing her eyes away from him in resignation, they almost naturally fell back onto the frame. The photo was now hidden from view, still the thought if Angell ever knew how much she meant to Flack crossed her mind; if he ever had a chance to tell her. Wondering, Stella's point of focus returned to him, finding him to have leaned back against the wall, an aura of pride engulfing him. He was obviously content with the authority he had over her; over having reacquired something in life that he finally had control over again. Nevertheless – or exactly because of that – she couldn't help but imagine Angell's reaction if she knew, imagine the mocking comments she would fire at him before yelling at him if he had lost his mind. Yet Angell knowing would mean she would be with them and with an inward sigh Stella pushed the wasted thoughts of what could have been aside.

"I'm listening," she told Flack, aware that he didn't need that information, however, she was tired of just sitting and staring. He didn't seem to agree though, throwing her a wordless glare before his attention was back on the beer.

"Flack, look," she started another attempt, hoping to lure him somehow out of that twisted world he was in right now. "I know…"

"You don't know anything," he interrupted, shooting her yet another cold stare.

"You don't even know what I was about to say," she snapped.

"It doesn't matter," he decided, tossing the obviously empty bottle into the trash on his way over to the refrigerator to replace it. He obviously had a near to inexhaustible stock in there and Stella would have loved to ask if he had removed everything else but naturally didn't.

"It doesn't matter because you cannot possibly know anything at all," he repeated, setting the bottle down.

"I know that you're not the only one to miss her," she pointed out, waiting for him to open the beer which he didn't.

"But I'm the only one who loved her," he hissed, his eyes still sparking at her. His body was cramped with a tension that had her own one flare up again, his exploding a second later when his hand slammed down on the counter. "The only one, Stella!" the sound of his voice once more rising. "The only one who shared the bed with her, who lived with her, who is now coming home to an empty apartment, expecting her to come out of the bedroom with that cheeky grin of hers… the only one to wake up to an empty bed, to see the clothes which are still here never being picked up again, to walk into the precinct each day reminding myself that she won't be there, that she won't have my back and that it won't be her sitting at her desk!"

His words were full of pain and despite the situation he had put her in, Stella's eyes watered as well and she became aware of the twinge of inevitable relieve that he finally let some of those emotions out of his chest.

"I bet you didn't even know that her desk was reassigned," he went on. "Reassigned! To a rookie. A rookie, Stella! A Detective Michael Carson."

He almost spat out the name, staring at her with an expression she was unable to read, nevertheless his disapproval of that new detective was written all over his features. She instantly understood that no matter how good he was, no matter how qualified, it would be an eternity until he would get some respect from Flack, simply because he had been so unfortunate to be assigned the desk of his late girlfriend.  
"So, don't tell me you know when in fact you don't," he warned. "When you don't even know about the simplest difficulties in life."

"I don't?" she asked, her brows raised even though in the back of her mind she knew better than to challenge him. But her own temper, her personality, her continued denial of the severity of the situation made her speak up.

"You don't," he stated matter-of-factly.

"And why's that?" she inquired, her voice just as unemotional and stiff as her look.

"Because life's been easy on you, Stel, that's why!" he explained as if it was more than obvious, apparently very convinced of his words and she had to bite back the bitter laugh that had developed in her throat.

"I see," she said sarcastically, the two of them glaring at each other and she was about to draw away when she heard him go on.

"You're going to deny that you always come out on top, that no matter what, you come out the winner, everything somehow falling into place?" he shot at her, his tone full of resentment.

"And how is that my fault?" she countered. "That I simply refuse to let life defeat me, that I don't allow it to control me and do everything I can to land on my feet – quite the contrary to other people."

Those last words were not the wisest to add but she was strained and tired of his attitude; of the entire situation that she wasn't even supposed to be in. No one was, not she or him nor anyone else yet it was typical of how life had been ever since Jess' death, absolutely nothing having been how it should have been starting with the fact that her friend was lying in a wooden box under layers of dirt, having begun her journey of eternity instead of riding the waves of life with them. Everything she had been used to had been turned upside down since that instant, in that blink of an eye, life appearing to decline to go back to what she was accustomed to.

The only constant that remained – and had remained solely because she had fought for it so it didn't slip away as well – was Mac, the thought bringing out a sudden longing for the comfort of his arms.

"Other people just aren't as lucky as you are," Flack's spiteful words lifted her thoughts off Mac and back on to him. "Other people don't have their career cemented in stone; they don't just graduate from college, from the academy, climb up the ranks, become detective just like that and second in command of the New York crime lab way before their time. They actually have to work for that; have to work hard to earn their places in life!"

"You think I didn't?" she asked incredulous, wondering if he really believed that it had been that easy for her. "You think all I ever did was show up and that was that? You think I never had to prove myself? That I never struggled with anything; never fought for anything?"

"Why should you?" he threw at her, the stinging sensation in her chest something she would have loved to be able to ignore. Yet although she couldn't, she refused to show any signs of how his words were affecting her.

"Oh, I don't know," she shrugged, her voice full of sarcasm. "Maybe it has something to do with me not having parents, having been part of a system which doesn't care where you end up, growing up in foster care and an orphanage not even knowing who I was; where I come from and having lost the only link I ever had to my past; my family. But I know, this is just a minor setback, a negligible detail in my _fortunate_ life… Just like the boyfriend who tried to kill me and the fact that I had to work my way through college to support myself because there was no one who would chip in any money; no one who would catch me in case things got tough. – But you're right with one thing, I never had to fight for any of that!"

She glared him, sure that she was as furious as he had looked earlier, her arms placed firmly on either side of her, her fingers clutching the fabric of the couch in anger.

"That's all over," he dismissed her words, stunning her.

"Over?" she reiterated, her voice yet again full of disbelief. "How could it be over? It will never be over! Never! For as long I live I will stay the orphan I am; will be without any family; without any mother who bugs me about grandkids; without any father who is wrapped around his little girl's finger; without even knowing who they are because the only person who could have told me is dead."

"And so is your mother," Flack cut in, his eyes icy cold, tears instantly welling up inside of her but she forced them away. "You didn't even have to bury her. You never had to stand at her grave; never had to suffer through losing her or any other family member. Never had to see someone you love slowly slip away and you have no idea what it's like to have loved and lost someone. You never did love and lose because all they ever were were ghosts; ghosts you neither know faces or names to nor will you ever!"

Feeling as if he had stabbed her right into her heart, she stared at him, incapable of any emotional reaction, her entire body appearing to be one black hole, his words ringing in her head like a never-ending echo. Words that she had not expected to ever hear spoken with such malice and even less so from Don Flack; from one of the two persons who mattered most to her.

Yet that was who they had come from and her only consolation was that it would have been even worse had it been Mac. That, she knew with a dead certainty, would never happen; he would never surrender to his emotions, would never allow him to lose control in such a powerful way. However, that understanding was of little comfort, the here and now much too present and painful.

"Yeah, I can imagine that you're not used to hearing that," Flack's almost mocking voice reached her ear and still numb from his words, she continued to just stare at him. "I'm sorry, but I'm not pitying you, Stella. Why should I? You're damn lucky!"

"If you look at it that way…" she mumbled after another moment watching him turn away from her.

She did the same when breathing all of a sudden became hard, her torso contracting with the tears which finally surged to the surface, all of the emotions; the anger, the frustration, the fury, she should be feeling following. They quickly took a hold of her and she was close to breaking into tears but swallowed them down as well as she could, rising determinedly from the couch.

"We're through," she stated firmly, moving from behind the coffee table and crossing through the room with fast strides to grab her coat.

"What are you doing?" Flack inquired, obviously surprised by her action.

"What does it look like?" she snapped coldly.

"You're not leaving," he hissed, his words sounding like the warning sizzle of a snake.

"Yes, I am," she objected unimpressed, the rage inside of her giving her the confidence she needed to step towards the hallway.

"No, you're not," he decided, his fingers snatching her forearm.

She yanked at it, his grip though was too tight for her to achieve anything and he whirled her around so she was facing him again, her body almost crashing into his. Returning the glare he regarded her with, her struggle against his hold subsided as his finger dug deeper into her skin the more she tried. The strength he still had despite the amount of alcohol in his system was astonishing; frightening if she thought about it. On the other hand she was sure that he had time to build up to it over the months and she had long concluded that it was best not to know just how much he had been drinking ever since Jess's death.

"Let go of me," she demanded, starting a new attempt at freeing herself.

To her surprise he let go of her, the back of her hand hitting the corner of the wall behind her and she drew in a sharp, involuntary breath at the dull pain shooting through her body. Yet she didn't flinch, her look continuing to pierce through him as she pondered her chances of fighting him. Inadvertently her gaze drifted to the side, sweeping over the gun, lingering on it. It was close, temptingly close, but he was close, too and he didn't have someone standing in front of him. While her advantage certainly lay in alertness, he had more than once proven that his strength hadn't suffered and all he would have to do was grab her arm again, shoving or even just holding her out of the way for merely a second to get the weapon into his possession.

Despite the development of the circumstances, she was still convinced that he would not use it on her, that she would, except for the bruises his grip had surely caused, stay physically unharmed. However, the murmur inside her was just as persistent, reminding her that in his condition he could grab it just out of spite; reminding her of all the possible consequences a struggle over the gun could have; of everything that could happen that neither of them intended to.

"I'd say you sit back down," Flack growled into her ear, ending her internal debate.

He had taken a step towards her, leaving her even less room to move, his eyes blazing with a dangerous fire and she studied him. Her brain initiated a new discussion about whether to obey or simply remaining where she was as an unexpected exhaustion made her just want to sink to the floor right where she was.

She threw another brief glance into the direction of the gun, the thought that by getting it into her possession she would be able to bring that entire situation to an end inviting and teasingly so. But turning it against him would mean that she had not seen any other way out; that he had left her no choice other than that and although her energy was reaching its low point, she was far from willing to give up on him.

"Stella," he snapped, her head shooting back around.

"Just let me go," she pleaded, her words heavy with weariness. "The longer you keep me here, the tighter the rope gets around your neck."

"Who cares?" he replied.

It was a comment she hadn't in any way seen coming yet it raised some worries inside of her and she searched his eyes, the carelessness with which he had gone through life for the past months so painstakingly clear.

"I do," she assured him resolutely.

"No, you don't," he insisted. "And don't tell me you do because I know that you don't! Otherwise you wouldn't be standing here but sitting where I told you to!"

His voice had risen at his last words and she found herself curse the alcohol yet again. She wanted so much to just grab him to drag him into the bathroom and hold him under a cold shower until he was back to his old self.

"Where I am…" she began, the ringing of her phone interrupting and she felt her muscles tense in anticipation of another outburst.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters

Thanks for all the reviews and alerts.

* * *

"You going to answer that?" he asked instead and without a response, she dug into the pocket of her coat, retrieving the phone that she then lifted to her ear.

"Hey," she said as cheerfully as possible, knowing who it was without checking the caller ID.

"Stella where are you?" Mac wanted to know, his tone suggesting that he was a little concerned. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," she assured. "It's just…" she paused, her eyes wandering over Flack's figure in front of her but it was only a moment before she drew her gaze away, not sure how to follow her words up.

"You're still at Flack's?" Mac helped her out, causing another second of hesitation from her.

"Yes," she then confirmed, feeling Flack's eyes burn into her.

"Is he alright?" Mac questioned, causing tears to well up inside of her for a reason unknown to her. She closed her eyes, her head seeking support from the wall she was still standing against and she swallowed hard, her eyelids fluttering open an instant later.

"Yes," she once again replied tentatively.

"How much longer do you think you need?" Mac inquired. "I could pick you up," he offered, his tender consideration increasing the yearning for his physical presence and her mind once more dug up all the curses she knew.

"Stella?" she heard Mac's voice, realizing how tight she had begun to grip the phone, forcing herself to relax again.

"It's fine Mac," she assured him, a rustle catching her attention and with her heart sinking she found Flack had reached for the unopened beer bottle, freeing it of its cap. "I – I don't know how much longer," she informed him slowly, remembering his initial question, pulling her eyes away from her drunk friend.

"As long as it takes," Flack barked at her, her head snapping back around.

He took a long sip from the beer before returning her look, daring her to object.

"Stella, are you sure everything's alright?" A slight confusion swung in his voice and she wanted nothing more than to tell him that it wasn't; that Flack was a mess, that he had given in to the most powerful emotion there was and was trying to cure his grief with one of the most dangerous legal drugs there was, his mushy brain having above all decided that she obviously was in desperate need to relive a slightly down-tuned version of what she had experienced with Frankie.

However, she didn't say any of that, primarily because of the erratic state of mind her opposite was in. With the beer in his hand, he was now leaning against the counter watching her every move and she did her best to ignore his almost disturbing gaze.

"I'm fine," she confirmed, sure that Mac would catch on to the reluctance in her voice, hoping that he was quick enough not to comment on it.

"You told him that already," Flack snapped and she shot him a glare.

"Is that Flack?" Mac asked with a hint of skepticism that she wished she could share.

"It's fine, Mac," she replied evasively, not sure why she didn't simply respond with a yes.

"That wasn't exactly what I asked," Mac pointed out unnecessarily. She knew him well enough to be aware of the confusion that was storming his mind and in spite of everything her lips curled into a faint smile.

"That's enough, Stella," Flack decided, straightening to his full height and throwing her a demanding look.

"Will you just – shut up for a minute," she hissed at him, wanting to at least talk properly with Mac on the phone if she was kept from being with him already.

The by now familiar sound of a bottle smashing on the counter had her jolt an instant later and her eyes shot up to the dark stare of Flack's.

"Stella, what's wrong?" The question was full of anxiety and she could almost hear Mac's brain trying to make sense of what was the twisted reality.

"Maybe we should – postpone," she offered a hesitant reply, her eyes, however, staying on Flack, his body disturbingly tense.

"Postpone?" Mac echoed.

The ghost of a smile crossed her face at the image of how her choice of word would have caused his brows to rise in a skeptical manner when she suddenly felt Flack's hand on the one holding the phone.

She warded off his attempt to grab the cell, the coat she was still carrying almost hitting him in the face and he jerked it away from her, throwing it onto the floor. Hearing Mac's concerned voice call for her, Stella made use of Flack's moment of inattentiveness and rose the phone back to her ear. However, she didn't get past "I'll call" before Flack grasped her upper arm, trying to pull it towards him but she yanked it away. Her hand hit the wall again yet she managed to hold on to the cell that Flack was already making another effort to take.

"Just let me finish," she snapped, struggling futilely to pull her arm out of his reach.

The sound of Mac's voice echoed once more from the phone as her arm was recaptured and Flack hauled her from the wall, pushing her towards the counter. He started to turn her around yet she fought his attempt, not wanting to give him the advantage he aimed for while constantly jerking at her held arm. The other one battled his fingers that were doing their best to remove the phone from her hand and he was about to clutch that arm as well when she was suddenly able to free herself.

With her grip on the phone having already been loosened by him, she let go of it completely and it clattered to the ground somewhere behind her while she stumbled backwards against the counter. She winced at the solid wooden corner digging into her muscles and standing frozen for a second, she caught her breath, allowing the pain to subside. Only then did she turn her head in search of her phone, unable to find it anywhere in her sight. By the time she had lost it, it had gone silent, her either having unintentionally hung up or Mac having done so himself, whichever way, she didn't care.

She shifted a little, eventually locating her phone among the pieces of glass of the beer bottle he had shattered earlier. The battery was disconnected but otherwise it appeared to be fine and with her eyes hardening, she turned back towards Flack.

"What was that all about?" she demanded angrily.

Ignoring her, Flack reached for his beer, studying the bottle before glancing up from it yet instead of offering an answer he just looked at her with sheer indifference. She rewarded him with an ongoing glare, her arms re-crossing in front of her chest, the subtle pain that remained in her back not subtle enough to stay unnoticed.

However, he was unmoved by her fixated stare, raising the bottle to his mouth and with him about to take a mouthful, she tore her gaze away in a repulsed fashion. She couldn't help but move her eyes back to where her phone lay and after a moment of hesitation took a step into the general direction of it, only to find Flack's hand back around her arm in an instant.

"You're not here to make phone calls," he snapped as she whirled round.

"Obviously," she snorted, fighting against his hold yet to no avail. "But you know what," she went on, continuing to struggle, "I don't care. I've had enough! Enough of you, your self-pity, your drowning your misery in alcohol…"

"I didn't ask you for your opinion!" he cut in brusquely, his grip tightening momentarily so he could place the bottle on the counter, almost tipping it over in the process.

"I don't care about that either," she barked, finally able to yank her arm out of his grasp.

"No Stella!" he stated loudly, quick to re-catch her arm and turning her. "No!" he repeated determinedly as his other arm went around her body, limiting her range of movement significantly.

While somewhere in the back of her mind she was glad that he seemed to have forgotten about the gun and was using simple bodily force, the panic she had so successfully suppressed earlier now overwhelmed her.

"Let go of me!" she demanded, trying to twist herself out of his hold.

It wasn't long after that her efforts were rewarded and while she struggled against his immediate attempts to capture her again, she was able to jerk her still held arm out of his grasp. Her elbow hit his jaw and almost as startled as he was, she looked at him, watching him stumble backwards, reaching for something to steady himself. Finding nothing but air, his flailing arms swiped a few bottles off the counter before he, incapable of regaining his balance, followed them onto the floor. Stella braced herself for another outburst, however, all he did was remain lying motionlessly, an eternity seeming to pass until he finally shifted, pushing himself to his knees. He surveyed the damage, his gaze falling on the photo of him and Angell that he had brought down as well, the shattered glass a perfect reflection of him.

Slowly, he picked up the broken frame, staring at it in disbelief; as if he realized for the first time that she was dead, as if he only now truly understood, then he let it drop again. Sinking his head to the floor, his body curled into a fetal position and with his hands forming into fists, uncontrollable sobs took him over.

Hesitantly, Stella looked at him, gradually lowering herself to place a cautious hand on his shoulder. His torso heaved with sobs and she descended to the ground completely, leaning against the supporting wall of the counter. Still a little tentative, she wrapper her arms around him, pulling him towards her to which he instantly responded, burying his face in her shoulder. Her hands moved to the back of his head, pressing it gently against her, her fingers starting to soothingly caress his skull and back. His entire body was shaking; shaking with sobs; with all the emotions that he had held inside of him for way too long and she drew him even closer, assuring him that he was not alone.

"How could she do it, Stella?" he cried, his voice muffled by her body. "How could she just die and leave me here? Without her! With nothing but pain and memories?"

The hurt and desperation of his words stung, the spiteful comments he had made earlier fast to move to the back of her mind; at least for the time being.

"You know it wasn't her choice," Stella whispered, tenderly squeezing his shoulder.

All he did was keep crying and for a few minutes she just held him, his sobs the only sound echoing through the otherwise quiet apartment. Inadvertently, a lump began to form inside of her throat and she had to blink back her own tears, allowing her chin to sink into his hair, providing additional comfort for the both of them.

"I loved her," he wept, still sounding desolate and broken.

"And she loved you," Stella replied softly, her hands continuing their caressing.

"It's not fair," he wailed. "It's just not fair."

"I know," Stella agreed barely audible.

It wasn't fair, far from it; Angell's life had been ended for no reason, protecting someone who hadn't even deserved that protection let alone having been someone who should have been given a life for. But there was nothing else that she could have offered which would have been of any consolation and she simply held him tighter.

More minutes passed during which she kept his crumpled body in her arms, soothing him, his cries slowly making her aware that it wasn't him but his entire life that had just crumbled. Not because of Jessica's death but because of what he had just gotten himself into; of all those troubles which lay ahead of him, his entire career, everything that she had known had mattered to him was most likely over now.

"What have you done?" she mumbled, her voice swallowed by his sobs.

They were, however, subsiding and little by little he calmed, eventually struggling out of her embrace and for an instant his reddened eyes stared at her shoulder before he lifted his gaze to meet hers. His cheeks were tear-stained, his features sagged and all she wanted was to hug him again yet she didn't, a part of her still not trusting him.

"Stella, I…" he began and obviously unsure of how to go on he tore his eyes away from her.

Searching for the right things to say he let his gaze roam over the floor, her and his knees before they fell on his palms and alerted by the surprise of his gaze she followed it with hers. His hands were blood smeared, several of the glass pieces apparently having cut him when he had fallen and she reached out to inspect the wounds.  
"Let me see," she offered yet he pulled his hands away, making her jolt back a little.  
"It's fine," he assured her, his eyes briefly meeting hers. They then dropped onto her shirt that he started to reach for, inadvertently prompting her to shift uncomfortably.

"I got you all stained," he mumbled, withdrawing his hand and looking back up at her.

Tugging at the fabric, she inspected the damage, a few small smears visible yet she only offered a slight shrug as she let go of the top again.

"It's fine," she echoed his words. "I don't think we'll go anywhere now anyway."

She offered him the hint of a smile but he didn't respond, insecurity still very visible in his eyes and he studied her, several times making an attempt at saying something.

"I just…" he finally managed, drawing his eyes away from hers, lowering them onto his hands. "I didn't mean… All I wanted was for that pain to go away, Stella." His voice cracked as fresh tears welled up in his eyes and he swallowed noticeably. "I never meant to hurt you," he added quietly and she reached for him, her hand cautiously covering his.

"I know," she told him truthfully, watching him raise his eyes slowly until they were level with hers again.

He didn't appear to know what else to say though, his lack of words resulting in another period of silence.

"I was so mad the other day," he then broke it. "At my colleagues, at Mac, you… that you just left, just could leave and have fun and actually had – Mac." He paused, withdrawing his hand and settling against the wall opposite her.

"I didn't think he deserved you." His last words were barely audible and he once more tore his gaze from hers, unable to look at them any longer. "He was fine and I…"

He let the sentence trail, fumbling with his hands, picking at the tiny pieces of glass which had obviously dug into his skin.

"But _I_ wasn't," Stella pointed out softly, a wordless look his answer.

"It just didn't seem fair," he mumbled almost embarrassed. "I – I felt that you had to be with me; had to help me…"

"You know I'm there for you if you need me," she reminded him. "We all are. – But none of us can work miracles and I'm no Mary Poppins. I can't snap my fingers and be done with it –it didn't work like that with Mac either."

There was a moment of stillness, giving him the possibility to catch up to her words while she sorted out the ones which she intended to say next.

"Mac took – years to get to the point he is today," she explained. "Years of work. Work of talking, of sorting through memories, pain… It was a long process and he arrived at the starting point in baby steps; after it took hours until I was allowed to talk to him again, days until he responded to something other than work related chatter, weeks until I could breech the subject, months until he began to so much as hint at his feelings. – But you'll get there, I'm sure."

This time it was a real smile she offered him, an encouraging one yet he didn't respond to that either and silence fell once more between them. Giving in to the exhaustion that had crept back into her body she let her head lean against the hard surface behind her, closing her eyes as she did so. All she wanted right now was to go him, to curl up on a couch, with a blanket; Mac, and forget about everything; pretend that it never actually happened and had just been a bad dream.

"Does Mac know about Adam?" Flack cut through the quietness of the apartment, however, she didn't react, contemplating whether or not to answer before opening her eyes to look at him.

"I haven't told him," she replied.

She had held innumerable internal debates on that subject and several times had she come to the conclusion to talk to him, to explain the circumstance which had led to her action – at least as far as she was aware of those herself. However, just as many times had she backed out of it, losing the courage, the sensation of having let him down almost overwhelming. She couldn't exactly tell why since whom she slept with on what basis was none of Mac's business. But some strange thought inside of her was sure of having disappointed him and the more time passed the more dominant that sensation had actually gotten, the fear that he would retreat back into the shell she had seemed to take an eternity to lure him out of, increasing with it.

He wasn't back to his old self completely, was still keeping a lot of distance to others yet in exchange for that, he and she appeared to have gotten even closer. More than before did he reach out for her, did he seek her opinion, her advice and thoughts; simply her nearness, the bond they shared fully restored. Just so much stronger, deeper and she had a growing suspicion that it was only a matter of time until they would cross that line they had mutely agreed not to cross. That possibility of breaking all of that again frightened her and the image of his disheartening face, his saddening eyes was already such an unbearable sight in her mind that she had not been capable of actually facing it.

"You probably should tell him though," Flack offered.

Biting back the comment that she didn't consider him suited to give that sort of advice right now, she searched his eyes, opting not to respond at all.

"Why haven't you told him?" he inquired, her spontaneous answer yet another wordless look.

"It's nothing I'm exactly proud of," she then stated, holding on to his eyes and he eventually nodded, apparently satisfied.

She wouldn't have offered any other explanation anyway, the subject not something she wanted to discuss with him, or anyone else and certainly not in the condition he was in.

"You know," he then began anew. "You and Mac…" At the mentioning of that she felt her muscles tense but remained quiet, hoping that getting no reaction would move him off the topic.

"Danny was convinced that something had happened in Greece that you hadn't been telling," he informed her.

His words surprised her and she couldn't help but wonder if Danny had been the only one, almost sure that he wasn't. Nevertheless he was more right than he would ever know; something had happened, just not what Danny was surely referring to.

It had been too early for that, far too early and she had still been too afraid to take that step down that path beyond the line of friendship and into the universe of romance. Yet in spite of that, that night, when she had not wanted to be alone and had eventually fallen asleep in Mac's arms – had changed something. Something neither had talked about but that they had both been aware of and it was what was weakening that line ever since.

"I was with him on that," Flack went on. "But then…" Despite the trailing sentence Stella knew exactly what he was talking about since it was simply impossible to overlook.

By taking the life of Jessica Angell they had not only ripped a good friend right of their middle but they had stolen a part of each of them, thrusting cliffs between them that hadn't been there before, the path back to one another leading over hurdles and detours.

"Life's too short, Stel."

His words startled her a little and she looked up to find the blue appearing as bright and clear as she knew it, allowing a flicker of hope to spark inside of her that this was really finally over.

"Too short to be afraid," he added as if he was aware of her thoughts, however, she figured that everyone who had been down the road of love knew all about the emotions involved.

"I know," she assured and this time he returned the smile she offered when all of a sudden a frantic pounding caught their attention and they both shifted simultaneously into the general direction of the door.

"Stella?" Mac's firm voice was heard which caused her gaze to move back to Flack.

"Flack?" Mac called, his hand once again beating against the wood. "Stella? Open up!"

Debating whether it was safe to get up, Stella watched Flack tear his eyes away from the direction of the door as well and she studied him, searching for an answer to her unasked question. A third, more anxious hammering at the door followed and it was clear that Mac was not far from kicking in the door yet Stella was still waiting for a sign of permission from her opposite.

"I know you're in there," Mac yelled.

"We're fine," Stella called out, her focus remaining on Flack.

They both knew that she had to open the door so it could be confirmed, just like they both knew what it meant for Flack once she did and again she realized how much he had thrown away; how much that one death had destroyed.

"Come on, open up!" Mac demanded, keeping her thoughts from wandering further into that direction.

"Calm down, Mac," Flack was the one to reply this time, "Stella's fine. I didn't hurt her."

At his words, she felt herself freeze, her chest contracting then she swiftly drew her eyes away from his, slowly standing up. Her back protested and she rubbed where the counter had hit her when a hand suddenly touched hers, making her yank it away in fear.

"Sorry," Flack mumbled, not meeting her gaze directly.

He had gotten up as well, suddenly seeming a whole foot shorter than he previously had and for a second she was actually afraid he would crumble right back onto the floor.

"Stella open up," Mac insisted, calmer now, however, there was still a certain anxiousness in his voice.

"Give me a sec, Mac," she shouted back, her attention then shifting to Flack who was now looking straight at her.

"I'm so sorry, Stella," he whispered but his eyes were speaking louder than any of his words ever could and she knew that he meant it.

Slowly her lips curled into a warm smile and reaching for his arm, she squeezed it, accepting his apology as another knock echoed through the apartment. She was aware that Mac was worried; probably worried sick after the call had been disrupted and he had not been able to get in touch with her over the cell again, nevertheless she let out a quiet groan, just wanting to have that moment with Flack.

"Promise me something," she requested, her features serious and he returned her gaze openly. "Promise me to seek some help."

With his eyes holding on to hers, he nodded, the hint of a smile once again gracing her lips.

"I promise," he confirmed and after another instant she took a hesitant step forward but paused when she was next to him.

She turned, glancing at the gun still resting on the counter and throwing one more look at Flack, she walked over, reluctantly reaching for it. Feeling his eyes follow her every movement, she separated the magazine from the weapon, spending a second starting at the black objects in her hands before she began to move again. With her legs heavy she went over to the hallway, halting as she was about to set foot into it and turning to look at Flack once more.

Defeat was written all over his features; defeat in every possible way and she quickly forced herself to tear away, walking down the hallway until she reached the door, her fingers curling tentatively around the doorknob.

"I'm opening the door, Mac," she informed him. "Everything is fine."

There was an expected "okay" for an answer then she could hear Mac tell whoever he had come with to stand back and after having taken a deep breath, she finally opened the door.

The anger and concern Mac's features had clearly held instantly transformed into a look of sheer relief and with her own relief washing over her, she stood there, incapable of moving.

All at once, a thousand emotions flooded through her, the realization of how much worse everything could have been hitting her with all its consequences.

"Are you hurt?" Mac inquired, the question filled with alarm.

Needing a moment to make sense of his words and realize the fact that he had discovered the stains on her shirt, she shook her head, her eyes shifting to the officer who had accompanied Mac. She didn't know him and she was fast to move her gaze back to Mac, staring at him wordlessly.

Opening her mouth, she tried to say something yet nothing came out and she simply pushed the door wide open, her knees suddenly giving the impression of buckling any second.

She let Mac draw her into his arms she was almost falling into anyway, barely noticing the gun being taken out of her hand, emotions overwhelming her. Struggling hard to not to start sobbing like Flack previously had, she buried her head into the safety of Mac's chest, his embrace tightening around her securely in response.

She felt his cheek touch hers, inhaling the scent she had longed for and with an all too familiar sense of protection wrapping around her body, she began to relax, moving further into his arms. He responded, his hug appearing to get even safer and a second later his lips touched her temple. It was only a short moment yet the effect was tremendous, his feelings; all of the negative and positive, the old and new sides of them were so clearly revealed in that small gesture.

The events from the past hour or so finally started to slow their tumble through her head and against her will she freed herself a little so she was able to look up, his arms keeping their secure hold around her.

"I'm really fine, Mac," she confirmed, his eyes having given away his biggest concern. "He cut himself but he didn't –" Unable to use the word hurt, she halted, searching for an adequate substitute. "He didn't harm me."

Letting Mac's eyes study her, she held on to his gaze, very well aware that he had noticed her hesitation and needed to find a reason; needed to confirm that she was physically unharmed.

Of course, she wasn't entirely; her back would trouble her for a few days and she was sure that by tomorrow her arms would be bruised, however, she didn't classify that as harm. Normally, Mac wouldn't either, yet just like she knew that she knew that his opinion generally changed whenever he learned that her bruises had been inflicted on her and it wouldn't be of any difference that this time it had been Flack who was responsible for those. If anything, it would make matters only worse, therefore there wasn't the need for him to be told; he would discover it himself soon enough and – that she was with a strange but exciting certainty sure of – not at work.

It was then though that she would deal with his anger, for now she let her gaze assure him that she was fine and content with what he found in the depths of her eyes, he let his hand wander to her head. His fingers slipped into her curls, tenderly combing through them as he pulled her close to him again and she willingly dropped her face back into his chest.

Shutting her eyes, she allowed herself to savor the comfort of his arms, the inevitable yearning of never having to leave his embrace spreading through her when a well-known, metallic sound caught her attention.

Reluctantly, she reopened her eyes, turning her head into the direction in the noise had come from and finding what she had expected to see. Flack had come up behind her some time after she had opened the door and the young-looking officer was about to close the second cuff around his wrist.

"You don't need those," she told him, not leaving Mac's arms. She sensed his disapproval, however he was smart enough not to say anything.

"It's ok, Stella," Flack assured her, their eyes meeting.

It was her who tore away first, shifting her gaze to the officer who was hesitating, his training obviously interfering with his personal ethics but eventually those were stronger. He unfastened the cuff from Flack's wrist and simply took his arm, ready to lead him out of the apartment.

"Thanks Carson," Flack muttered, a flicker of admiration briefly lighting his eyes as a faint smile spread over Stella's face.

Yet it vanished as quickly as it had come when the two detectives passed her, regret and sorrow filling her eyes with which she regarded her friend. Him being arrested, being taken out by a fellow officer, all of it was so wrong and she would have loved to turn back the time; turn back to the point she had decided to stop by, to the point she could have snatched the gun from him, ending everything before it had begun. But she couldn't anymore than she could make his actions undone, the sudden tensing of Mac's body making her realize that Flack had stopped.

Her arm shot out, quickly and firmly snaking around Mac's and she could feel the muscles of his forearm tighten, his hand being pulled into a fist, nonetheless he didn't move. She threw him a brief, warning glare that she knew he was aware of even though his lethally cold eyes stared at Flack before her own attention shifted back to the broken detective.

"Life's too precious, Stel," he reminded her.

She just smiled, her eyes remaining locked with his and for a second her smile was returned as Flack had understood that that tonight she would take the first step that would eventually right the balance of life again.

With a barely perceptible, approving nod Flack turned and enfolded in Mac's arms she watched him being walked down the hallway. As she did, her hand slid along Mac's arm until she found his hand that was still resting at the side of her back and she let her fingertips brush over his skin. Slowly she then slipped them in between his fingers, lifting her gaze to meet the eyes she had wanted to all evening long. They had softened again, engulfing her with that shadow of color that tinted them in all the fascinating shades of the ocean and that she so loved.

If possible, she could have stared into them without interruption, never wanting to let go of their spell but it inevitably was broken sooner or later and tonight it was no different. The tingling sound announcing the arrival of the elevator had the magic fade and once more Stella shifted. She watched Flack and Carson step through the opening, Flack's and her eyes connecting one last time before the doors began to drift closed.

Turning back to Mac she found his eyes waiting for hers, drawing them into their previous connection as soon as they met and she willingly sank into it, her hand slowly guiding his from her body. Flipping hers, so her palm was against his, she curled her fingers around his, letting them intertwine in the most intimate way, a million unspoken words expressed through that tender touch; through the bond their locked gazes still upheld. It was their own way of communication, one they had established a long time ago, the world belonging to it finally opening its gates and with their eyes dropping shut, they stepped into it, the melting of their lips sealing their joint future that lay ahead of them.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

Thank you for all the alerts and reviews and again thank you Lily for help and encouragement!!

* * *

"There you go, baby girl," Stella whispered affectionately, carefully settling into the pillows propped against the head of the bed. "We're home now," she assured the infant cradled in her arms in the same caring voice, tenderly stroking over the tiny, fisted hand with her index finger.

She was still captivated by those; the small hands and feet, the little fingers and toes and it had almost become an addiction for her to watch as their seemingly endless usage was explored. Each time it seemed more amazing what the human body was able to create and even more amazing than that was that the 1 ½ months old creation was hers. Hers and Mac's to be exact, that alone probably worth a mention among the wonders of the world and reason for the many instances one of their colleagues had suggested they should name the baby Miracle.

Although they all agreed that it was not the baby itself which deserved the honorable mentioning since her conception had happened only hours after their first kiss.

What did was that they had managed to get to the point and that, combined with Stella's prompt pregnancy, had made them an easy target for lighthearted teasing. Naturally, her more than him but everyone had enjoyed dropping hints about sexual education and birth control and Sid had even gone so far as sneaking a small pack of condoms into Stella's locker. Anonymously, of course, and she had originally suspected it to have been Danny. Yet when Sid had offered to help her and Mac catch up on what they had obviously missed in biology class one day while they had both been down in autopsy, she had instantly known who the little souvenir had come from. His response to her astonished look had been a meaningful smirk before he had gone back to the dead body in front of him, leaving Mac to gaze at them in confusion. Stella had filled him in later that night and two days after that, several helium filled condom-balloons had escaped the body bag Sid had opened, one of them with a note that read that they hadn't been able to figure out what else to do with them.

Wishing once again that she could have seen his or even better any of the other's faces, a smile tugged at Stella's lips and hearing a noise, she looked up to find Mac step into the room. He dropped the bags he was carrying at the side of the changing table opposite the bed before he crossed over, slipping out of his suit jacket as he did. Easing himself onto the mattress next to her legs he put the jacket down beside him and with his eyes wandering over Stella, he began to loosen his tie.

"Looks like somebody is a lot happier," he remarked, pulling the decorating fabric of his neck.

"It certainly seems to taste different now," Stella agreed, her eyes wandering over the infant sucking contently at her breasts after having rejected the much desired milk not even an hour ago.

But then she had rejected more or less anything that had been offered, her heartbreaking cries having echoed mercilessly through the bedroom of Hawkes's newly acquired two-room apartment. Mac and Stella had taken their time discussing their attendance of the early-evening-party their young CSI had thrown to celebrate his success at the same day of their daughter's baptism. In the end they had opted to at least stop by and until that one specific moment about sixty minutes ago the little girl had been doing fine.

She had loved the attention everyone had bestowed upon her, being cooed over something she adored and after only a few minutes everyone present had been wrapped around her tiny fingers – which had prompted Mac to point out that it was Stella that ability came from, a silent glare having been his answer. Even Lucy's several attempts to use the baby as a real life doll had been endured and each time it had been Lucy who had ended up in tears as she hadn't understood why her own mother had persistently handed her one of her plastic dolls instead.

But with an additional lunch after the late morning ceremony in church and a nap that had merely lasted for the duration of a 30 minute car ride, fatigue naturally had to overwhelm the infant at one point. That had been reached a little over an hour after their arrival at Hawkes' and neither Mac nor Stella or even the both of them together had been able to soothe their child.

With each unsuccessful attempt, Stella's patience had decreased as well and when Mac had unnecessarily stated that their daughter was hungry and tired, she had rewarded him with an overly sarcastic "genius." Right from the day their daughter had been born, she had hated the helplessness of being unable to calm their crying baby and the inability to know what could end her child's suffering caused frustration. A sense of motherly failure that she simply didn't want to accept, insisting that the baby cried for a reason and it was her duty as a parent to ease the discomfort the infant was in. Therefore Mac had ignored her comment and had simply placed his hands on her shoulders. He had let his palms stroke slowly over her upper arms, comforting her while she had made another attempt at soothing their little girl. Once again it had been futile and she had turned, their eyes locking before he had drawn away to get their things ready to leave.

As soon as they had been in the car, the infant had fallen asleep but upon entering the parking garage of their apartment building her hunger had woken her again, thus Mac had sent Stella upstairs while he had taken care of unloading the car.

"How's her mother doing?" Mac inquired, his hand finding her leg.

"I'm fine," Stella assured, a warm smile crossing her lips at the soft caressing of her ankle that Mac's thumb had begun. "Just a little tired."

"Missed your nap?" he teased, a spark lighting up his eyes.

She responded with a grin, knowing that he was talking about the many times he had come home during the past weeks only to find her having involuntarily dozed off on the couch, the baby nestled in her arms and the TV running.

"Sort of," Stella replied. "But I think we can be very proud of this young lady," she changed her attention back to the baby in her arms, the pride she was talking about audible in her voice. "Considering what we put her through she held up really well."

"That she did," Mac confirmed, his eyes following Stella's every move as she switched their daughter. She made sure the infant was just as comfortable before she readjusted her bra, her gaze then meeting Mac's. Those private moments lit up his eyes with a glow that she adored; that she knew was the sole product of affection and fatherly pride and her body still tingled with a warmth whenever it filled his look.

"I love you," she told him tenderly, a soft smile playing around her lips.

"And I love you," he replied quietly, holding on to her eyes for another moment then letting them drift to the tiny girl in Stella's arm.

"And I love you, too," he whispered, stroking over their daughter's head prior to placing a cautious kiss on her hair.

Logically, it was dark and didn't show any signs of curls yet, those though being something Mac quickly had expressed his hope for. While Stella agreed that it would be cute, particularly on a small child, she had also remembered the many fights there had been when it came to brushing her own uncooperative hair during her childhood and it was the sharing of those memories which had subdued Mac's enthusiasm. It had also led him to reduce his wish, so he now shared Stella's opinion that their daughter should have inherited some of her mother's curls instead of all of them.

"What about me?" Stella caught his attention, regarding him with a certain demand in her eyes.

"I told you, I love you," he said, his voice just as innocent as his look.

A second later, however, a flirtatious smile spread over his face and with his hand remaining on her ankle, he leaned in to her to join their lips into a gentle kiss, their words confirmed through that simple touch.

Savoring that short moment of intimacy Mac took his time to actually draw away, their eyes fluttering open as he shifted back into his original position. After exchanging another glance, she found his gaze dropping once again to the girl in her arms and this time she let hers follow, the sight of her; Mac; everything of right now, responsible for the contentment that settled into her body. That things would turn out the way they had done surely wasn't what she had expected upon learning that she was five weeks pregnant only five weeks into her relationship with Mac yet they had.

The explanation of Stella's OB-GYN to the strange reaction she had had when performing the standard ultrasound had turned the simple routine check-up into a shock. Stella had made her double check and insisted on her blood being drawn, all day long trying to convince herself that she couldn't be pregnant. The list of reasons, however, had been short and had quickly been overpowered by that sneaky voice inside her head that had constantly reminded her just how likely it was. Even more likely from a scientific point of view, it had whispered, since Mac and her hadn't used any protection; she wasn't on the pill – getting a prescription had been the purpose of her doctor's visit – and he certainly wasn't the guy to have a stack of condoms in his nightstands.

They had known what could happen but that night none of that had mattered.

When their lips had finally parted that evening in front of Flack's apartment, all Stella had wished for was to go home and that they had done. Their fingers had intertwined while they had walked towards the elevator and they hadn't let go of each other until they had reached the car at which point Mac had pulled her into an unexpected hug. Whispering words conveying his immense relief that she was safe into her ear, he had held her tight, everything else that had been inside of him, his concern, his fear and feelings for her, revealed in that one gesture. Emotions had again threatened to overwhelm her then and she had finally given in to them a few hours later.

Having realized that the sushi they had picked up on their way to Mac's place had lost its appeal to her, Mac had placed his own food down and drawn her wordlessly into his arms. The moment she had touched his chest, she had broken down crying, all of what had piled up over the past months and especially the last hours crashing down on her. Despite her efforts, it had taken her some time to calm herself but once she had, Mac had tenderly wiped her tear streaked cheeks, silencing her intended apology with a soft kiss.

It was that kiss which was responsible for the tiny human now nestled in her arms; that tender, loving kiss which had made her realize that there was only one way this night would end. Only one way she had wanted it to end, as she had ached to give in to that emotional longing which had built, without having to think about any consequences. That, she hadn't and neither had Mac. But he had instantly understood her need for what had been to come; her need for him and he had gladly caught her as she handed herself over to his affectionate care.

Nevertheless the possibility of a baby had been something they hadn't discussed and hadn't been prepared for when Stella had told Mac the following day after having gotten the confirming result of the blood test. He had been equally as stunned yet the subject of abortion had only been breached to determine that it wasn't an option for either of them. Since the alternative of adoption had been mutually ruled out the second the words "I'm pregnant" had been out of Stella's mouth they had spent the next days getting used to the idea of becoming parents. Individually at first but more and more together, often talking about it once Stella had crawled back into bed for another half hour after her wave of morning sickness had been dealt with.

By the time of her next ultrasound appointment four weeks later, they both had begun to carefully look forward to it and the true excitement had finally captured them another three weeks into the pregnancy when they had passed a baby store one afternoon. The following day Stella had found a small gift bag sitting on her desk, its contents three tiny pairs of socks, each in the shape and color of a different animal face and a few days after that Mac had accompanied her to her periodic check-up. It was the one appointment Stella still remembered every detail of, Mac's eyes having lit up with that glow for the first time at the sight of their baby and it was that moment that everything seemed to have fallen into place. All of her concerns had reduced to those every parent-to-be was having but even those hadn't frightened her, as somewhere deep inside of her she had known that they would manage just fine and so far they had done; perfectly. She wouldn't have it any other way than the way it was and while she could imagine nicer circumstances to get where she was, she would go through everything again without the slightest doubt or hesitation, would she not be guaranteed that an easier path would lead to the same outcome.

Feeling their daughter's hand on her chest, Stella's point of focus returned to the girl in her arms and with her hunger finally stilled, she had shifted, rewarding her mother with a yawn.

"Not yet Little Lady," Stella smiled, lifting her into a more upright position to keep her from falling asleep just yet.

Mac had already reached for the blanket on the nightstand, draping it over his shoulder as Stella tucked her feet under the comforter to compensate for the lack of his touch. She let him take their child out of her arms in what had already become a routine movement and readjusting her bra, her warm gaze lingered on father and daughter. It was a sight she would never become weary of and she slowly began to scramble to her knees, sliding over to him. While her arms snuck around his waist, her chin came to a rest on his free shoulder and she felt his face sink against hers in response. He treasured the moments the three of them had together as much as she did, however, seeing as Stella's hours at the lab had to be covered as well, those moments were rare.

With an ongoing grudge against them for disrespecting department policy Sinclair had refused to go through the selection process for a suitable CSI for the few weeks Stella's maternity leave lasted. But Mac knew better than to utter a word about it especially since the Chief had still not tired of emphasizing that it was only thanks to his good-hearted humor that both of them were allowed to continue working in the same lab. Therefore he was silently – as Sinclair had so eloquently put it – suffering the consequences of their irresponsible actions and so was she.

While there was nothing she loved more than to be with her daughter, there were days when she missed Mac, missed having him at home; missed being with him at work and lately had begun to miss work in general. In those instants she couldn't help feeling useless, was unable to deny the nagging restlessness deep down inside of her and as much as she experienced guilt about it, she was relieved that her maternity leave was up in two weeks. It would also give Mac the opportunity to spend more time with their little girl given that neither was comfortable with leaving her with a nanny so soon and thus they had decided to cut back their hours, each working only part time for another two months.

Rewarding Mac's tending to his fatherly duties with a kiss on his cheek, Stella lifted her hands off his body and sweeping his tie together with the jacket from the mattress, she slid from the bed. She walked over to the closet, putting the tie into its drawer then draped the jacket over the chair next to wardrobe, opting not to take on the struggle of fitting it back inside. Like the rooms in what formerly had been only his apartment, it was cramped as all trace that there had once been two people sharing the place had been erased over the years. Due to the crib and changing table, the bedroom in particular had shrunk in size and even though there was the spare room – the reason for their choice which place to give up first – which later on could have been transformed as a nursery, they had soon after her moving in with him decided to search for a bigger apartment.

Mac had, with an unusual trace of timidity in his voice, explained that he didn't want to stay longer than necessary in the place he had previously lived with Claire in. He needed that fresh start with Stella, needed to know that everything would be different and new, an apartment that they both had chosen an important part of that.

Chosen they had; it had taken them some time to find a suitable and affordable two-and-half-bedroom-apartment in the city but they had finally signed the lease two days ago. They were scheduled to move within the next month and Stella had actually become quite eager to do so as the walls appeared to have been closing in on her during the past days especially. She had already begun to box several of the books, dishes and other decorating items and with each finished box the sensation inside of her that the move was the last and sealing step to mark the start of their newfound, joined life increased.

The prospect of that had her lips curl into a smile and opening the zipper of her dress, that smile grew at the awareness of his eyes lingering on her back. She added some barely noticeable sensuality to her slipping out of the dress, knowing that it would not escape his eyes. The few extra pounds she still had certainly didn't bother him; at 20 inches and a little over 8 pounds the baby had contributed to quite a round figure that he had adored. For the most part she had as well, she had been pregnant after all. But while she was sure that he would never find a fault in the way she looked, she did and she was determined to shed any of the additional weight that was left, preferably so within the next month.

With her dress squeezed back into the closet, Stella turned, her gaze catching Mac's and offering him the hint of a seductive smile, she strolled across the room towards the bathroom door. Continuing to feel his eyes on her, she reached for the robe and after taking a little more time than necessary, she slid it on. She fastened the belt before turning back around, finding Mac to have risen from the bed, their gazes once again meeting.

This time it was him who offered her a slight smile and she returned it, slowly joining him at the changing table he was placing their daughter on. Even when it came to diaper changing he couldn't be a prouder father than he was and slipping her arms around his torso, Stella pressed her body against his. For a second she held on to him, inhaling deeply then she shifted, releasing her embrace, her hand trailing his back as she moved to his side. Lifting her fingers off him, she dropped down, sorting through the contents of one of the bags and finding what she had been looking for she stood up again. Wordlessly she handed Mac the pajamas in exchange for the dress he had taken off their little girl and that she had so persistently refused to be slipped out of earlier.

In a way Stella couldn't blame her, she loved the dress, the detail on the bodice, the silken fabric and the care with which it had obviously been sewed. That had been done by Jess's great-grandmother and according to Mr Angell, her grandmother, mother and Jess herself had all worn it for their baptism.

When he had shown up about a week after Stella had given birth she had been surprised and even more so over the gift he had wanted her to have. She had naturally rejected it at first, unable to accept something so precious after his own daughter had died only a little over a year ago, arguing that one of his sons might would like to have it. He hadn't heard any of it, assuring her that he had talked it through with his sons and that they had all agreed on him giving it to her and Mac.

She had remained hesitant but that there was no one on Stella's side who could pass anything of sentimental value down to her and especially that the little girl had been named in honor of his daughter had made Mr Angell determined. Therefore it had been a lost battle for Stella to begin with and eventually she had thanked him warmheartedly, promising to let him know the date of the baptism – something she herself hadn't even known to be held.

Despite their religious upbringing, neither Mac nor Stella had breached the subject until that day, the thought not having crossed their minds. Yet after a prolonged discussion that night, they had come to the conclusion that, regardless of them not being regular church goers, they wanted their child to have God's blessing.

Setting the date then had been rather simple; Mac had wanted to spend the first Thanksgiving together with Stella and their daughter thus had already taken himself off the schedule for that holiday. With everyone else off or at least able to clear a few hours, the decision had been made quickly and so the little girl had been baptized Jessica Taylor Bonasera earlier that day.

Originally they had decided on Leila, however, when their daughter had finally made up her mind to come into this world seven minutes after midnight – and nine days after the actual due date – on the same day their late friend Jessica Angell had been born, Stella and Mac had needed only a glance to confirm what they had both already been aware of.

The middle name then had been Stella's insistence so it would provide the link to Mac seeing as neither she nor he had the desire to get married.

He had asked her a few days after they had found out that they were having a baby; not proposed but simply inquired if she wanted to get married now that they were expecting a child. It had been obvious that he wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought; as stupid as it was, he was afraid he was more likely to lose Stella would she become his wife. Yet it had been just as clear that had she wanted to, he would have married her. That though was an intention she didn't have; she didn't need a wedding band to know how much she meant to Mac just like he didn't need it to know what he meant for her. They had established that without a doubt during those long years of friendship and she felt that if anything, a marriage could harm their relationship more than it would do good.

As a result the matter had been settled within minutes, ending in a play of affectionate passion, the bond they shared having steadily strengthened ever since.  
"Any thoughts I should know about?" Mac's quiet voice caught her attention.

"No," she smiled, tenderly stroking her daughter's back who was cradled against her father's shoulder. "It might go to your head," she added coquettishly.

He raised his brows but didn't respond and giving him the briefest of a meaningful look, she continued to caress the little girl, her index finger slowly trailing down the small arm. The tiny hand was clutching the fabric of Mac's shirt and Stella let her fingertip brush the back of the hand before tracing the little bracelet which was gracing Jessica's wrist. It was simple, adjustable in size as she grew and custom crafted, the angel-engraved incorporated pendant having been a medal Jess had given Flack so his back was always had. He had always kept it in his wallet, now, however, he had passed it on to his Goddaughter so her angelic namesake would hold an eternal guarding hand over her.

Halting her movements, Stella shifted her eyes to Mac's the instant he lifted his to meet hers, the mixture of emotion mirroring the difficulty he still had with his attitude towards Flack.

Right from the start he had accepted no excuse for Flack's actions, his own grief having served as an example whenever Stella had tried to make him consider the circumstances. He had been and continued to be unwilling to share her reasoning that grief could be dealt with in many different ways and had dismissed her claim that no harm had been done, arguing vehemently that psychological harm had indeed been caused. Regardless, he had been smart enough not to say anything when Stella had gone through with her intention of not pressing charges, silently enduring her unwavering debates with the DA not to pursue Flack anyway.

Eventually – and as was to be expected – she had come out the winner, though not without a scar because Flack not only had monitored therapy to attend to but had also been required to resign. It was a flaw that had bothered her, yet she had soon realized that it was either that or losing the battle completely. She had agreed reluctantly, only to find that Flack had already considered quitting himself, doing so without any worry. Three weeks later he had announced that he was leaving the city, relocating to Newark where he had accepted a job as a guidance counselor for juvenile felons. He had been grateful for the possibility of a fresh start, slowly climbing back to life and today had been the first time he had appeared somewhere with a date ever since Jess's death.

Even Mac had stated that he was happy for him, reaching that point though had cost Stella a lot of patience and frustrating talks. It had taken her weeks of subtle but constant pressing until Mac had finally begun to at least consider forgiveness and even more weeks until he had gradually acknowledged Flack with something other than an icy stare. She had been more than relieved when he had finally started to talk to him again in a civil manner nevertheless she knew that their friendship had suffered irreparable damage.

It was why Mac had been obliged to repeat the careful proposition he had made a little over a week ago since Stella had not trusted her ears to have heard what they allegedly had. Yet he really had suggested that they could ask Flack to be the Godfather of their child, hesitantly explaining that he had noticed how much their daughter appeared to like and trust Flack. He had figured that if she as well as Stella who had had to suffer through that ordeal could do so, so could he – again; tentatively, of course.

So the honors had gone to him as well as Sid who had been Stella's choice and quite quickly agreed on and during the day Jessica Angell had become the third; someone having referred to her as the Fairy Godmother. That had been fast to establish itself among the others, the thought prompting a strange sensation of security to nestle inside of Stella; a guarantee that her daughter would always be safe and watched out for and with Mac's hand covering hers, closing it around their daughter's and the precious metal that sensation only grew.

"Nothing will happen to her, Stella. Ever," he assured her softly, his words having the ability to make her believe that. "And neither will anything happen to us," he added barely audible, aware of that only fear she hadn't been able to conquer.

She hadn't talked about it but she knew that he knew that a part of her would always be afraid that their child might be put through the same she had been. It was why she had one night, when she had been unable to sleep and Mac had come to find her snuggled up with a blanket on the couch, admitted that she was, seemingly out of the blue, thinking about changing her profession. His inquiry for a reason then had been answered with a shrug and a long look into his eyes before she had dismissed the subject again. Mac, however, had pulled her closer into his embrace and as he had murmured into her ear that neither of them would abandon their baby – voluntarily or involuntarily – she had understood that her eyes had given him the response she hadn't voiced.

Just like they were expressing her love right now; her gratefulness for his presence, his reliability and never-ending care and it was only reluctantly that she tore her gaze away. Whispering words of affection, she leaned in close to kiss their daughter goodnight, her lips lingering on the tender skin. She drew back slowly and took her time to pull her hands away, as Mac then began to move towards the crib.

Turning, she watched him gently lower their Jessica into the pink Disney Fairies bed sheets and having kissed her goodnight too, he caringly covered her with the blanket. As he smoothed her soft, dark hair Stella joined him, her hands once again snaking around his waist and with dreamy eyes, she let her chin come to a rest on his shoulder. Their daughter was already sound asleep, looking so peaceful and very much like the angel Stella had heard Mac tell her she was named after a few hours into her life.

Exhausted from the almost 25 hours of straining labor, Stella had fallen asleep almost as soon as she had been in her room and it had been early afternoon once she had woken to Mac's soft voice. The image of how he had so tenderly and very cautiously played with their daughter in her crib was still vivid, as were his words. Those quiet words, spoken with unlimited love, with which he had explained how the little girl had been given a special name since she had chosen a very special day to make her entrance into this world. Naturally she had only gazed at him with those huge eyes of hers, which still were of that same rich blue of a winter sky that they had been at birth.

While Mac held on to his hope that they would change to the green of Stella's, she actually adored that exceptional color they had and the chances that they would stay that way were growing by the day.

"It's going to be green in the end," Mac's voice cut through the silence as he turned in Stella's arms so he was facing her.

His own encircled her waist and smiling at his knowledge of her thoughts, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

"You seem pretty sure about that," Stella stated, a slight flirtation in her voice.

"I am," he stated huskily, leaning closer, "Emerald."

With the challenge disappearing from her smile she looked at him, allowing his lips to touch hers again as her mind wrapped itself around the word Emerald.

He still was a little tentative in using it but while he had saved it for special moments only at the beginning, he had started to call her Emerald more frequently ever since their daughter was born. It was almost as if he finally dared to and she tried to encourage him as much as possible through touches; looks; gestures; loving his choice of nickname for her. Just like she loved to be reminded of its origin, the six days they had spent in Seattle full of special and affectionate memories.

His suggestion to combine her birthday with a week of vacation had caught her so off guard that she initially had even considered it to be a joke. It was only when he had told her that he had checked with her doctor and had started to list some cities which might interest her that she had realized he was serious, her choice then falling on the Emerald City.

They had left three days before her birthday, spending their days sightseeing and exploring the area, enjoying the first time they truly had only to themselves. On her birthday itself they had gone whale watching – one whale even having done them the honor to show up despite it not being the season – and it was on their walk back to the hotel after their exclusive dinner on top of the Space Needle that they had grabbed one ice cream for the two of them down at the water front. As they had stood there, the sky slowly enveloping itself with the colors of the setting sun, Mac's arms had draped around her, his hands coming to a rest on her seven months pregnant belly.

Starting to caress it, he had whispered his love into her ear, the place of her name filled with the word Emerald. A soft tingle had spread down her back yet she hadn't replied and simply sunk deeper into his chest which was how they had watched the most amazing sunset she had ever seen.

It wasn't until they had continued their way to the hotel that she had repeated his choice of a name, the hint of a question in her voice. He had turned to look and they had walked in silence for another moment before he had explained that her eyes had taken on the shade of the city's surrounding forests its colors what it was nicknamed after.

"That won't help them change either," Stella smiled softly, his lips parting from hers bringing her back to reality in every possible way.

"I still don't know who she would get those blue eyes from," Mac countered, his face remaining close to hers.

"Your eyes do resemble the color blue, you know," she pointed out flirtatiously.

"They are grey," he stated plainly as she had expected, then a smirk appeared on his face and she looked at him in anticipation of what he was about to say. "But maybe you've changed your mind about there being something you haven't been telling me," he murmured seductively, his brows rising slightly.

"I'll think about that," she shot back with a grin, their gazes locking.

"Let me know when you've reached a conclusion," he mirrored her grin of mischief.

"I'll think about that, too," she replied, the kiss his lips met hers for showing that he was just as ease as she was.

There was no reason not to be as their hearts simply knew that neither would ever cheat on the other and despite her concerns, filling him in on her little deviation hadn't changed anything about that.

He had even seemed somewhat amused when she had told him about it a few days into the New Year; not about the one-night-stand itself but about her choice of who she had had it with. His initial reaction had been a skeptical confirmation that he had heard her right, her and Adam apparently having been a very scurrile thought to him – and she had silently agreed.

Yet instead of the disappointment she had feared, a trace of sorrow had cast a shadow over his features as he seemed to have realized for the first time to the full extent how much he had hurt her by shutting her out the way he had. Brushing a curl behind her ear in a gesture of sheer affection, he had studied her before he had pulled her into his arms, whispering an apology into her ear.

It had startled her and although his explanation had made sense, she hadn't been able to ignore the silly twinge of dissatisfaction inside of her. She hadn't wanted him to be hurt; she had actually been relieved that he hadn't been, that nothing of what she had originally feared had happened. Nevertheless there had been that tiny part in the back of her mind which had been bothered by the lack of jealousy and she had, only half joking, pointed it out to him.

His answer had been the same she had given herself over and over; that at that time it had been none of his business with whom she did what. But his eyes had revealed another story, very much contradicting the indifference he tried to portray and with the ghost of a satisfied smile crossing her face, she had dropped the subject. He, too, had let go of it yet only until later that night when they had been snuggled up on the couch and he had almost timidly asked her why she hadn't come to him; why she had allowed him to push her away.

She had been unable to present an answer and after a long look into her eyes, he had once again expressed his regret for denying her what and above all who she had needed. Following that had been the promise that he would never let that happen again, the night then spent in surrender to their emotional need for one another, sealing their deep and infinite trust.

The same trust which his opening eyes now unveiled as his lips left hers; the same trust that had grown, still was growing with each day and would until the very last.

"I'm right, you'll see," Mac pointed out.

She responded with a smile indicating that she, however possible, knew more than him, before her eyes wandered over his body in inspection.

"I'd like to," she murmured, her eyes flickering back up to lock with his.

"What you like is something different," he replied, a grin flashing across her face.

"I like different," she stated flirtatiously, feeling his hands glide along the belt of her robe but coming to a rest on her hips to pull her a little closer.

"It's not different that you like," he remarked quietly, leaning in to her.

"It's not?" she asked, their eyes still fixated on each other's, communicating in a language only they could speak and understand.

"You could be wrong about that," she challenged with the hint of a smile, her lips grazing his yet denying him anything more than that.

"I could find a way to arrange myself with being wrong," he whispered as her fingers tugged at his shirt easing the fabric out from his pants.

"I like arranging," she offered, her hands sneaking underneath his dress and undershirt to settle on his bare back, her fingertips beginning to caress his skin.

"You like being right," he smiled and with his arms encircling her in another embrace he cautiously started to walk her backwards towards the bed.

"There are a lot of things that I like," she answered, her palms moving over his sides to his stomach, feeling for his belt.

"That's what I like about you," he declared huskily, his lips touching her ear, sending a shower of tingles rush through her body.

"I like being liked," she muttered, standing against the bed now and her fingers slowly shifted from the pants they had opened to the buttons of his shirt.

"What about being loved?" he wondered as she undid button for button.

"It does sound tempting," she agreed and having reached the collar of his shirt, she pushed the fabric over his shoulders until it slid from his muscular frame, silently sailing to the floor.

"Temptation can be a huge risk," he pondered, his fingertips trailing over the back of her hands which were in the process of removing his undershirt.

"Risks can be intriguing," she decided, letting him lower her onto the mattress, her fingers snaking lustfully over his now bare torso as he inched over her.

"I would have to investigate an intrigue," he revealed, pulling at one end of the robe belt and with the knot coming undone the soft fabric slipped from her skin.

"I'll remember that," she promised in barely a whisper, right before his lips captured hers and with his warm body sinking onto hers, they drifted into a tender play of passion and love.


End file.
